Anti-spy league
by MonkeyCrunch
Summary: Meet Nathan. This is how his day's gone so far: got shot by his own ally, who appears to be a spy. But after being recruited to join the anti spy league, he learns those French bastards have one hell of a secret plot up their sleeves. Looks like it's gonna be one of those days...
1. Nathan's Really Bad Day

**Hello everybody, Metherarto here. I'm taking quite a big break from my Inside Out fic to write a new one based on my favourite video game: Team Fortress 2. I had this idea for quite a while after watching the movie RIPD, so be aware that some parts have been slightly adapted before I'm accused of ripping someone off. I still actually owe the Percy Jackson franchise for inspiring me with my Inside Out fic's jokes too, so there it is. This one will most likely be a lot longer (if I stay bothered enough to finish it), so for those who have come as guests or are hardcore readers of this website, welcome to the story.**

 **As always, enjoy.**

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Nathan adjusted his dog tags and let his shirt hang a bit lower than his chest so it was exposed along the neck line. His "chick" position, which he considered a lucky charm before battle, was widely considered a joke for the rest of BLU team, but they let it go since it was quite honestly hilarious. Who was he actually going to seduce, forty to fifty year old men? He pressed himself flat against the gates that would automatically open in thirty seconds to ambush anyone hiding around the corner, checking his scattergun, his pistol, his hair, everything a vain Scout would possibly need to check. His bemused Sniper comrade, Mick, clutching a custom built sniper rifle, squeezed himself beside him. Twenty seconds. Nathan wiped a line of sweat from his brow. Not from nerves, but from anticipation. Ten seconds. Two Heavy and Medic duos joined them at the exit and an Engineer picked up his teleporter kit, ready for deployment. Just another day in the Gorge area.

"BEGIN!" echoed that ominous voice, spoken every day. For a normal person, it would mean a quick contest, over in minutes. For the mercenaries, it was the beginning of a fifteen hour firefight that only stretched between about eighty metres of ground.

Mick murmured in Nathan's ear.

"Hey." he said, that rich, chilling Aussie accent making Nathan shiver. "Be safe, will ya?"

Nathan simply nodded in reply, took a deep breath, and ran out into the carnage. Rockets, grenades and bullets flew at him in deadly streaks, ricocheting harmlessly off empty crates and collapsing boxes as he leaped at almost impossible heights to avoid them. A shotgun blast nearly caved the side of his skull in, had he been a fraction of a second too late to roll under it. He spun around, crouching, slugging ten pistol rounds into the chest of the unnamed Soldier who'd been centimetres away from turning him into a Scout kebab with extra salad. He collapsed almost instantly and was dead before he hit the floor.

"Get to the point!" he yelled to his peers, who were picking off the last stragglers. The capture zone was just in the courtyard ahead, plain to see through the giant holes in the walls created by minigun fire. A small building lay between their goal, and Nathan reloaded while he had the chance. There were three entrances into the building: left, right or centre. He picked left, following Mick. The Heavies and Medics ran on ahead, but they kept to the back, expecting something to happen almost instantly.

And it did.

The Heavies and Medics ran up the stairs, through the main exit towards the point, and Nathan could practically see it happening in slow motion. A glimpse of a spiked, red, plastic ball lay around the doorframe. Then another. And another. The Medics opened their mouths to scream, the Heavies' faces fell immediately and Nathan stretched out his legs to shove them away, but the damage was done: the stickybombs erupted in a blossoming could of flame, igniting the entire radius and reducing the four men to thick, gushing, bloody soup. An eyeball got caught on Nathan's shoulder and he brushed it off in disgust. Mick released the stock of his silenced submachine gun, letting it fall with a clatter before replacing it. Probably trying to avoid being sick.

They were a stretch from the control point. A few footsteps, just upon the bridge that stretched over that dried up and non-existent river. Not even that. The stickybombs were gone, but there was still God knows what waiting to pounce on them the minute they stepped outside. A squad of five Pyros interrupted his thoughts as they ploughed behind cover next to him, waiting for the go ahead. Right. RED team wanted a good show? Let's give 'em one.

Nathan planted his fingers firmly on his scattergun trigger and sprinted as fast as he could, unaware of the continuous streams of cartridges being sent after him. The Pyros and Mick followed after him, providing cover as he fought on top of the silver disc that would claim his victory. Three sentry guns, one on a neighbouring roof, one below the bridge and another next to the wall, being repaired nonstop by Engineers deafened him, but he focused as hard as he could on what seemed to be fifty people shooting at him at once. Two charging Demoknight tried to flatten him, but he dropped to the ground and tripped one of them over, knocking him headfirst and letting him finish him off with a blast to the head and a drunken yell of pain. The second whipped around with his sword after his failed attempt, scraping Nathan's dog tags and narrowly avoiding his neck. Nathan shoved him back with a foot to the sternum, and stood up to face him head on. The Demoknight snorted like a rabid bull, ready to strike again, but was blasted in the chest, spraying his alcohol-infused liver all over the walls and making an awful mess of Nathan's jogging bottoms. The knight did quite a spectacular backflip, then fell against the sentry by the wall, shoving it flat and crushing the Engineer underneath. Two birds with one stone. Or three if you count the sentry. _That's one for the trophy cabinet, Nathan_ thought smugly, before being dragged back into reality by a muffled shout as the control point started filtering from devil red to a sea blue shade. Mick had blown the head off the second Engineer and wrecked his sentry, but the third was not letting anyone near. Three of the Pyros charged him, but a wrangled rocket blast to their feet cut them all down mid-step giving only one time to realise his mistake. Nathan used this distraction to get behind him and his contraption, and, for effect, waited until the sentry realised he was there and almost gave the Engineer a heart attack. He leaped on top of it, ripping parts out of the top, until it sparked and went haywire, firing in all directions as it was slowly demolished. The Engineer hadn't tried to save it, and it was only after Nathan stood up, panting from sweat and pride, that it was because he was just a burning pile of overalls and a hard hat with the last few Pyros kicking him a few more times just for good measure. They'd won.

"VICTORY!" came the final announcement, issuing the enemy's death warrant. Nathan was too tired to chase whatever poor suckers were still alive today, so he just leaned back against the fence with Mick and sipped his can of punch he kept for celebrations.

"Tough one, huh, mate?" Mick asked, not to bothering to hide the fact that he was having a rather silent laugh at his appearance. "You can tell you enjoyed that one."

Nathan just grinned back, listening to an echoing explosion from the RED spawn and the emanating scream of a dying enemy Scout. Probably some stupid amateur who didn't know when to duck.

"Hey." Mick said, leaning across the fence, propping his rifle up against his back. "What'd you do with your…you know, your unusual?"

Nathan shrugged. It had only taken five hundred odd crates and two years' worth of salaries, but he'd managed to locate a factory new, unusual baseball cap with a disco-light shine coming from the rim. It was one of many that were probably stashed away in the darkest corners of Saxton Hale's basement.

"Boxed it back at my mothers'." He whispered, leaning in close to make sure they weren't being watched or overheard. Mick nodded.

"Makes sense, I guess. After all, there's plenty of people wanting to get it, right?"

"Yup. As a matter a fact, I'm amazed it hasn't already been nicked. Ma always has to date really dodgy guys she meets when I'm on the job…I mean, RED Spy? _Seriously?_ She needs to get out more."

"Mmm-hmm. But you should watch out. Ya never know when of those bloody spooks are hangin' around. Big gob of yours could get yourself into trouble."

"Oh, come on Mick. You know me. You're my best pal. I can take one of those freaks any day."

Then Nathan heard the click of a hammer behind him, followed by that cold voice Mick usually made when he was trying to get the enemy to freak out under his gaze. "Really?"

Nathan slowly turned to find a revolver levelled at his face. One he certainly hadn't seen Mick pack beforehand.

"It's a shame you never let me have that unusual, Nathan. It would have looked good in the RED team hall of achievement. Just imagine it: me, the murderer of the best Scout BLU has employed. Or _had_ employed. Better get used to the past tense."

Nathan stared at the gun. This had to be some kind of cheap joke, it had to be. But the barrel didn't waver.

"Poor old ma." Mick continued. "Now childless as well as a widow. But don't worry: her boyfriend will help her get over it."

The truth hit Nathan like a brick. As a matter a fact, it seemed to hurt even more.

"You're a spy."

Mick rolled his eyes. "Well duh, wanker. It took me a while to get this accent right, so I'll let you die with the comfort of knowing it was from one professional to another. But skill _always_ beats luck."

Nathan couldn't think of anything to say, so he just gave a solitary "go to hell."

Mick smiled a little. "My dear old mate," was the last words Nathan heard in his old career. "That's exactly where I'm taking you."

He pulled the trigger. A flash, a bang, and all Nathan could see was blackness as the life slowly dripped out of him in the form of crimson liquid gushing from the hole in his head.

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 **Aaaaannnnddd...cliffhanger. Very familiar to the RIPD, huh? Don't worry, I'll add my own original ideas as the fic goes on, so continued support is very welcome. I'm a bit of a nitpick as well, so please inform me of any spelling errors I may have made, as this was quite rushed. All the same, I hope to entertain you guys later.**

 **Peace.**


	2. Join the League

**And I'm back! After a few months of little to no plot development, ideas, and / or effort, I have assembled the second chapter of my tf2 Anti-spy league story! Please point out any small punctuation or spelling errors I may have made, because I'm a bit of a nitpick like this. I'll try to update much more frequently from now on, but no guarantees. Thanks for your patience.**

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Nathan lay in the medical bay in respawn, seething with anger. His ears were so red they practically had their own heat signature. He couldn't believe that after five whole years on BLU team, he never realised his closest friend was a dirty, double-crossing spy.

"It was only a slight bit of damage to the frontal lobe of your brain." Was all Dr Gubacher, the Medic in charge informed him. "Just a bit of lying and everything will be just fine. Of course, you are also the first patient I have ever performed a transplant on using the brains of chimps. So if you feel a sudden craving for bananas, that will be completely natural. I think."

Nathan sort of tuned out halfway through. He didn't want to lie in bed. He didn't want a banana. He wanted to find that Mick/Spy slime ball and kill him. Very slowly. With a hammer. Lost in his own fantasies, he didn't notice three unexpected guests sidle up despite how every head in the ward slowly turned their way out of sheer terror or disgust. And we was tapped on the shoulder and spun around in what he hoped was as hostile a way as possible, he nearly had a seizure.

The man who'd tapped him was a Soldier. Helmet, grenades, trench coat, everything that ticked the generic offensive class criteria. But the soldier was old, war-beaten and tired-looking, as if someone had just dragged him out of bed and he had to get dressed in a hurry. His stubble was shaved in some random places, and in other parts it was jutting out like silvery pricks reflecting the dim ward lights. The coat was covered in scrawls of incredibly violent doodles and phrases, like _"I will rip out your eye and piss on your brain"_ and _"_ _I am not trapped in a country full of enemies! They are all trapped in here with me!"-_ basically the kind of guy Nathan was pretty sure he wouldn't be making friends with any time soon. Surrounding him on either side was another assorted weirdo who wouldn't look too out of place in the wackiest of circuses. It was a Pyro that was literally stitched up. Every separate limb or body part was accompanied by a badly-hidden line of sewed string. Nathan had always considered Pyros to be a creation of Frankenstein, but this was taking it to the next level - one of the eye protectors on the mask was missing were it had supposedly been smashed out; a giant, bloodshot eye coloured crimson blue stared down at him.

Nathan studied the two of them. The two of them studied him. It was a matter of pride now. And then Dr Gubacher showed up behind them, his usual blood red attire covered in the classic turquoise of any normal, less bloodthirsty surgeon. Nobody spoke for a few minutes, though it felt like hours. Finally, Gubacher spoke up.

"As I was telling you Lloyd, this here is Nathan. I was thinking he'd be a useful addition to the league."

The Soldier guy, who seemed to be whom Gubacher was addressing, had a permanent look under his helmet like he'd just been introduced to a hunk of steaming dog shit.

"He was killed by a Spy who he'd originally thought his friend and comrade for three years. He's absolutely clueless in that department – you don't need medical scans to prove something like that – but his combat skills are something. Just took down three sentries out there, my bowl headed acquaintance."

Nathan took particular notice of the deliberate avoidance of the term _friend._ Whatever this supposed "league" was, it obviously wasn't too tight-knit. "Wh-what do you mean, killed? Is this respawn?" the truth suddenly sank into an abyss below his stomach. "We got the first round, but…we didn't lose the rest, did we? I mean…did we?"

"The one time you captured that control point was the only time. All the other matches after that…seven in all…your team failed miserably. Your Spy friend got away with all your battle plans, field tactics, everything. I wouldn't say your other allies will be happy to see you again after you accidentally told the enemy everything, and that includes your Administrator." Gubacher let this lie for a few minutes due to the traumatised look on Nathan's face. "Awful, it is. Awful." He said, with an expression on his own that plainly thought it was really anything but. Lloyd and the Pyro still deigned to say anything.

"So we have decided-"Gubacher began, before being cut off by Lloyd eventually snorting contemptuously, "well, I decided – that you could join our ASL. Our Anti-spy League. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year protecting the world from those backstabbing weasels. And there's a good chance that involves your little assassin too."

So this was just some huge recruiting ground for these people? A huge war and all they see was employment opportunity? Did they have no moral standards?

Well, obviously not. But then again, when it came down to the thick of it, Nathan really didn't either. Someone who is totally okay with butchering everybody dressed in certain red uniform has a high tendency to not exactly be rather high on the "friendliest people in the known universe" list. Shooting Mick or whoever he was in the face? Tempting. Very tempting. But having to live around these people was bad enough for a second, let alone an eternity. He'd most likely go insane unless one of them died – assisted by his scattergun, if necessary. So for the time being, he'd go with yes.

"Yeah" he answered.

"I don't like your tone, rookie." Snapped out Lloyd, which surprised Nathan, as he'd been of the opinion that his mouth was sewn shut. Now he could only wish it actually was. "You talk to your elders; you talk to them with respect. You're part of the team now, so buck up your tone and clench your buttocks, because that's how we roll."

"You got it partner." Nathan sighed, rolling his eyes, already regretting his choice. He was beginning to see why Gubacher didn't like him.

"Whoa whoa, time out." Lloyd barked again in a smarmy Bostonian accent just as thick as Nathan's own. "You aren't a partner to a sergeant like me just yet, training wheels. You're just another slimy, common-as-shit, twinkle-toed cocksucker you get on the streets until I say contrary."

"You got it, Corporal."

"Sergeant!"

"Sergeant."

"Just call me sir."

"I was gonna do that, sir."

"Or Lloyd."

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Mick sat behind the greasy bar, rapping his fingers against the alcohol-coated table top. A waitress came over, handed beers to two heavies and nothing but a glare at him for not ordering anything. He'd chosen a different disguise today, a more clean-shaven and blonde haired sniper, but still the slash across his left eye would not vanish, like it was to haunt him forever. It was a spy, ironically enough, who'd slashed him while fighting in a one-on-one battle, but they were now both on the same team – all searching for unusual hats, which was the fuel for their fire. Even the administrator or Saxton Hale themselves were aware that all the spies in America had their own little union now. If someone as snooty as Miss Pauling came by to call, she'd be greeted with a stomach full of bullets and a memory drug back in respawn so she'd forget the last day of her life. All this had happened about twenty times now. Killing Nathan, however, had just been that one opportunity, and God, did Mick savour it. The snarky young punk had it coming. Always flashing that superior grin like he was sitting on top of the world, just waiting to be put out of his misery.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by an old-ish man with shaggy white hair and a beard dressed in a silk linen suit and black shirt. Though it was forbidden to uncover their real faces in a public place, Mick recognised his accossiate immediately. When you work in a world of espionage, you always acknowledge the smallest hints and details.

"Hello, Breen." Said Mick. Neither did they use their real names. It left too much to chance if their meeting place was bugged. "You got more?"

"Indeed I do, Bennet." Replied the older man, untucking his suit slightly to reveal the unusual helmet underneath. The miniature lightning bolts flickered and dance above it.

"Well, I'll just have it here, now-"Mick began, before the other pulled it away.

"No, Bennet." He responded simply. "They're all outside the emergency door in a crate by a luggage trolley. But I'm keeping this one."

"W-why? We still need a hundred more for our plan to become complete."

"Security reasons. We're spies, mate. And call me paranoid, but it's not normal for spies to chat with other spies, let alone form allegiances."

He was talking too loud. Someone might hear. Mick debated shooting him over the noise of the popping champagne corks at the other end of the pub so no-one would realise what happened. And the bartender was still shooting some haughty glances his way.

"Just to make sure you don't get into your head to backstab me, eh? I'd hate to think we'd mistrust each other." The elder grinned. Mick just grinned and stood up to silently declare the conversation over.

"Well, I'm sure we can cope with one less. Keep your eyes open, buddy."

"Sure thing, _Bennet._ "

And with that, he slipped out of the door as silently as they'd all been trained to do.

More unusuals for the spies.

It was coming together beautifully.

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 **So the spies have a plan ahead. Get the Half-Life reference? I just love Valve and their games, though the Batman Arkham series would come as close seconds. Anybody have ideas on how said plan should evolve? (I have come up with my own, but I fear it may be too generic.) As always, reviews and follows will be greatly appreciated by a guy like me, so I'll see you next time. Adios!**


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